


the aftermath of a storm

by morinoke



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Feels, Love Confessions, M/M, Promises, Romance, Self-Doubt, Shiratorizawa, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24504877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morinoke/pseuds/morinoke
Summary: The fateful loss of a match against Karasuno is enough to break the spirits of those clothed with the glory of champions, those of which who hold their heads up high and are proud to call themselves Shiratorizawa. To make matters even direr, however, the emotional loss culminates in a physical form, as Hayato finds the team's beloved second-year middle blocker missing.
Relationships: Kawanishi Taichi/Yamagata Hayato
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	the aftermath of a storm

**Author's Note:**

> The feeling of loss and grief when you lose something is truly hard to bear; whether it be a family member, friend or even something dear to you. For Shiratorizawa, something that they lost was not only a sense of pride as a victor but a loss of a haven (Tendou), legacy (third-years) and a taste of nationals (the rest of the team). Imagining just how they must have felt at the sound of the prolonged whistle at the end of the game is difficult, and the struggle through which they went through to hold back their tears just destroys me. 
> 
> This is one of the reasons why Shiratorizawa is my favourite team. Not just because they are strong and tenacious, but also because they are willing to accept defeat when it arrives for them. Seeing them crushed by one single loss at the qualifiers after they have won for so long is soul-wrenching, and so I tried to write about that sense of disappointment they all collectively felt at the end of the match in a Kawagata fic (That ended up being stuck in my drafts for a while though, but eventually I got to finishing it). 
> 
> I will never stop feeling pained by their loss, even if I am glad Karasuno got to go to Nationals. It's all conflicting feelings and tears in the world of Haikyuu, after all, and that's what makes it incredibly riveting to read. 
> 
> Song to accompany this fic: Bastille - Things We Lost In The Fire

To put it simply, there are two kinds of applause. 

One, given solely for the bearers of a hard-earned victory. Or the second kind, delivered on the basis of effort paid in full, but the sting of loss makes the weary wipe their eyes when they think no one is looking.

However, everyone was watching when the final extended whistle was blown, concluding a well-fought match. With the barely concealed shock and surprise reflected in their eyes, the audience erupts into an ovation. More specifically, they were cheering for the victors. 

Names of victory that did not belong to them.

Blame is thrown out of the window as he bears witness to a revolution, one which restores glory and praise, as well as newfound condemnation and hung heads. Mouths go dry and hands sting red, but nothing beats the feeling that more could have been done, more practice could have been put in,  _ more receives could have been nailed. _

As Hayato stares down at his own cold sweat pooling on the floor, he supposes that the logic of that is true. 

He feels dizzy. Overexertion paints a reminder as clear as day, from his shaking fingers to his throbbing legs. However, it’s home ground to him, as he recounts the days of practice where he and his teammates would be thrown into gruelling hours of the drills that seemed to stretch on forever. Of course, he took it all in stride as best as he could, being a third-year and a mentor to several other younger members, never hesitating to put on an encouraging smile for those who needed it most. 

_ Where was the returned smile when he needed it? _

Nevermind  _ him _ . Hayato glances up slowly, from the bench that he was offered minutes ago, and peers at his teammates. Shiratorizawa, at first glance, seems to be all over the place and crumbling at its edges. Tsutomu refuses to rest from the disappointment and he cries, going through bereavement of his own. He does this under the watchful eyes of Eita, whose tears have long since gone dry; the first year’s offered a light hand on the shoulder. Kenjirou hides away from the world with a vengeance and tightly balled knuckles, which slam on the wall until Eita pries them away from him. A guttural howl erupts from the caverns of his throat and Hayato shifts his gaze. Reon silently fills up water bottles and hands them out, getting unspoken gratitude through faded smiles. 

Wakatoshi stares straight ahead. On surface value, he’s unruffled, but the team cannot possibly be bonded if they do not see how he longs for the heft of the ball in his palm. Jin sits beside him, hoping to be a source of comfort, but he’s cradling his head too in the name of shattered pride. 

Hayato almost wants to laugh at this view. In terms of circus acts, this certainly was pushing it too far. He expects some clowns and a ringmaster to suddenly pop out of the corner and announce that this was just some sick practical joke, but no such thing happens. The closest thing they have to a clown right now is sitting by himself at the window ledge, holding his knees to his chest and tracing shapes on the glass. 

Satori, their dreamer, finds his thoughts void of colour.

The libero almost wants to ask him to offer the team one of his smiles and keep up the spirits of the team, but it would be too cruel of him to do so. It’s incredibly hard to part with a childhood dream, and he knows firsthand that the middle blocker found happiness in their little paradise they all called the Shiratorizawa volleyball gyms.

The team once acted like they had the world, and had good reason to do so. They were undefeated and seemed en route to certain victory. However, as they bask in the shadows of the crows that have stormed their throne, Hayato can only stare at their backs wordlessly. 

He continues watching the puddle of sweat gradually expand, but this time he realises it’s a mixture.

The benches beside him are filled with sorry sights of Shiratorizawa players, but as he does a double-take, he comes up empty. 

Taichi. Where was  _ Taichi _ ? 

Hayato jerks up and feels his sense of balance shift off-kilter along with it, but he gets up from his seat while swaying a little. He scans his team for any sign of strawberry blonde hair or height that just manages to surpass the others, but he’s once again met with bleeding maroon that threatens to ruin a framed portrait. 

He’s getting nowhere with his search. Leaving the team behind, he hurries as fast as he can towards the gymnasium, getting sympathetic looks along the way from members of the audience that used to cheer for his school. He thinks he recognises some classmates or friends from neighbouring classes, but however loud they shout for him to slow down so they can talk to him, Hayato runs and casts their voices to the wind. 

_ I don’t need your sympathy.  _

He wrenches the big double doors open and his wrists scream in agony, but he’s still standing on his feet. The view of the top from his position outside the court suffocates him, and the administrative and cleaning staff that remain to ensure the organization of the venue fix him with this nauseating denouement. No sign of an unassuming middle blocker or his crooked smile; the bleachers speak tales of a ghost town. He curses this observation and racks his brain for any other place where the second year would be giving way to the horrors inside his head. 

_ Why was he so frantic?  _

It was just the day before the qualifiers, and Hayato was the only one present when Taichi poured out his heart to him. With flames streaked across his face and eyes filled with uncertainty, he looked small from where he was standing tall, like a falling city’s cracked walls. For what it was worth, the libero felt himself burning up inside. He couldn’t compete with his feelings and his own paper-thin barriers promptly collapsed. He had smiled so brightly and promised the other that if they won this year and got to go to Nationals, they would go out and see where the world took them. 

Taichi gave him a grin of hope, one which gave him the strength to carry on despite the internal bleeding in his arms. 

He had said it so naively, relying on the history of won matches. What was  _ wrong  _ with him? He was a libero and the team counted on him to protect their court, but he’d gone and tossed everything away in that instant. A simple receive ingrained in his system, like a well-oiled mechanism; it was tens of thousands of neural connections that obeyed him and kept the ball flying up in a calculated move, so what was the reason for that one failure? 

It was simple. Fatigue, born from weakness and the simple-minded belief that he could accomplish something to give the third years that sliver of hope. They had all the same ambition as soon as they took over from the previous seniors, and that was to bag one win for Nationals to send themselves off with a bang.

Was he selfish? Was he foolish? Was he stubborn for wanting to keep this ambition?

The lobby of the Sendai Gym soon comes into view, but between him and the general public, Taichi is nowhere to be found. Hayato worries his lips with his teeth, tracking sweat all over the tiled floor. He can feel himself reaching his limit as he rests his hands on his knees, but he can’t fall just yet. He needs to find the last member of the team and fix one of the many failures which weigh him down. 

But he'll be damned; it's one of the heaviest burdens he's tackled yet, and he can almost see the vines around his legs that pull him down. 

He settles on charging towards the staircase leading to the roof. If there was one thing Taichi loved to do, it was watching the sun and its iridescent hues wash over the horizon. 

However, someone taps him on the shoulder and he almost ignores it, but a name rests on his lips and he whirls around a little too fast. With the bile rising to his throat, he hacks and coughs, tears oozing out of his eyes and it blurs his vision even further. 

He tries to get a closer look past the black spots to determine who’s standing in front of him, but it speaks and his words spark up and fizz away.

“Hayato, what are you doing? We need to board the bus soon.” The voice is upbeat, but it tastes too sweet and would culminate in a treat that would make him spit it out immediately. Reassuring arms help to steady him, and he regains balance. In the process, he makes out a taller figure with curly hair and a familiar uniform. Complete with dark, understanding eyes, the figure is someone he would consider his trusted friend. 

_ Reon.  _

“No, we can’t. Haven’t you realised? Taichi’s  _ missing _ .” His voice is strained and he drowns in his own voice, finding himself gasping for air even as he stands still. Reon’s eyes squeeze together with empathy, which Hayato chokes another time at. He keeps his mouth tightly gnashed together, eyes tracing the cracks of the linoleum floor. 

To be frank, Hayato hates being watched over like a child, because it's a liability. _He's_ a liability. Unfortunately, Reon is motherly, and sometimes Hayato would rather do without that trait of his. 

“I know." The wing spiker straightens up, and there is finality in his tone. "But you can’t go on like this, considering the state you’re in. Let me go with yo--” 

“ _ No! _ ” Hayato snaps, the sharpness in his voice slicing through the air. “...No, I won't allow you. This is the one thing I need to do by myself. Please, Reon, I’m begging you-- _ I need to find him. _ ” 

And there went his impulsiveness that often resulted in their arguments. It was the very devil in the back of his mind that haunted him in the most unexpected of moments. 

Why couldn't he just  _ shut up _ for once?

Reon can see the quickly disappearing hope in the other's eyes, of sleepless nights untold and secret tears of frustration that slide off his face after every practice. It worries him to no end and he has half a mind to tell him off right now, for abusing his body for a task the team can handle. However, Taichi is one of Hayato's loved ones and the boy is the only thing on his mind right now. 

He's filled with grief, at the conflicting feelings that he has, but the wing spiker draws his lips into a line. 

"...Go get him back, Hayato." 

Reon squeezes his shoulder as hard as he can muster and empowers him, by letting him know that he's not alone and the team is behind his back. Obtaining their first loss in years was enough of an emotional toll for the day, but they were even more anguished upon finding out that two of their key pillars were missing. Being as perceptive as he was, Satori had forgotten what being lifeless was and jumped up, reminding the team that Hayato and Taichi were missing. Startled, they all stared at him as he yelled matter-of-factly that they needed to get their act together because mourning points they could have won wasn't their style at all. 

They won by intense force, and they definitely could apply that concept in supporting each other. 

Even though the loss was theirs to hold in the previous battle of concepts, they were all stubborn volleyball idiots that had thick-headed skulls and the audacity to call themselves winners. 

The libero and middle blocker, either by themselves or combined, contributed to the possibility of them even daring to do that in the first place. 

And so, lines of seniors and juniors then blurred together as they all scrambled to split up and find Taichi and Hayato as soon as possible, with all of them simultaneously getting up and running with an urgency trained in them since their first year.

(Reon’s willing to bet that they looked intimidating and hilarious at the same time.)

But none of that occurs to Hayato as the imaginary worst-case scenarios flip like some demented picture book in his mind.

_ Maybe he's not even on the rooftop at all, and I'm just aimlessly carrying my own weight before I pass out. Maybe he's not even in the vicinity of the gym, and we can’t find him until we actually search outside. Maybe-- _

_ What am I saying? Of course, he’s going to be on the rooftop. It’s his favourite part of any building, where he looks up at the stars.  _

_ Right?  _

Hayato clambers up the last flight of stairs on his last breath and very nearly slips en route to the roof landing, but he catches himself in the nick of time by grasping onto the shaky door handle. He takes a bit of time to recover from the near-miss, but his heart is still pumping at its jittery pace as he surveys the rooftop. There are a few players from different teams and even members of the public that came to watch the match, but they only seem to be scattering flowers in the wind. He ignores the questioning gazes that spread through the crowd and searches for any sign of life in the decaying environment. 

A few identifiable uniforms, a few unidentifiable uniforms. Dirtied jerseys that reek of defeat and disappointment, and their team hues are especially jarring to the naked eye when presented all at once. Maroon is no excuse either, and he wants to deny it with all of his might, with all of his poorly contained fury as he slams his knuckle on the door. He had half a mind to belt out a warcry, but as urgent as he was to hear Taichi’s voice again, it had to take the backseat for now. 

There was one other place on the roof that Hayato thought to look, and it was the uppermost part of the roof that allowed a bird’s eye view of the surrounding park. That roof was one of the places where he’d marked out in his planner, with both the planner and attention to detail as a surprise that he was going to show the middle blocker after they’d emerged as long-standing champions for Nationals qualifiers. It was the perfect place for quiet time to themselves, away from the constraints of being Miyagi’s qualifier or even the fast-paced volleyball practices that they had grown accustomed to. 

He considers it all a dream now, one which his childish heart yearned for. 

The upper roof was only accessible by ladder, but considering the state that he was in, he was definitely not going to make it even past the first rung. He racked his brain for other alternatives. Maybe he could call out to the lone individual up there and get his attention? That would certainly make him sit up from lying on the hard concrete and face Hayato, his blonde hair swaying in the wind. 

Wait, blonde hair? Lying on the rough roof and staring at the sky? 

There are three possibilities to the facts that are presented before his muddled vision. A, he’s hallucinating, which he shudders at, or B, it’s just someone that looks like him. 

C, it’s  _ Taichi _ , and he’s currently taking a siesta on the upper roof. 

He’s grasping at straws by this point, and he’s about ready to give up and let Reon help him get medical attention when a voice interrupts the white noise of the environmental chatter. 

_ “ _ Hayato? _ ”  _

All of a sudden, his jaw gapes in realization. There Taichi is, towering above the rest of the bystanders that are alerted to the commotion. In blind triumph, Hayato rips his voice raw by mustering the loudest voice he can exclaim and runs towards the ladder despite his collapsing form. His heart and mouth scream a name that has been circling around his mind back and forth for a while since he left the team, and he lunges his body forward in an effort to reach the upper roof faster. 

_ Finally _ , he thinks, finally, he can get to see that face again which enshrouds itself in mystery. But somehow, it looks even more beautiful now, shadowed by the steadily setting sun and its scarlet hues in the distance. Panic is written in the midst of a few freckles and warm brown eyes, and the other is now sitting up hurriedly. His hand motions for the other to stay still so he can come down via the ladder and escort him back to the team, but the libero is too overwhelmed with adrenaline and emotion to give a damn about given instructions. 

He’s sure that he’s causing a scene, but hell, he was on the verge of toppling over like some broken matryoshka doll and he could care less about such formalities even now. He was on the most unassuming position on the team even though he revelled in being glorified and celebrated. While he enjoyed being the team’s main line of defence should their spikes fail, it didn’t do his previous victories much justice. He was blacking out, but he could feel the warm cleft of Taichi’s hand catching him as he fell. 

He smiles. It’s so painful but so gratifying. 

\--- 

He’d never intended to stay long on the roof of the gymnasium centre where they resigned themselves to taking second place, as he only needed some time to clear his head. Nevertheless, a few seconds of shut-eye led to another, and another, and then seconds led to minutes. Waking up merely made him feel worse, and Taichi blinked away the bleariness in his eyes. 

What time was it? There were others on the roof with him, but they didn’t seem to notice him even being there in the first place. Peering at the horizon, the sun appeared to be setting. He supposes it’s about time to collect his thoughts and leave his spot behind, but the fatigue weighs his muscles down like lead. 

It all seemed too much like a fever dream then. No, they weren’t set on another journey to the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium. No, they could take a metaphorical intermission until the next season started, and be faced with a flood of questions as to why they were incompetent right at that moment. No, they wouldn’t get another chance to play at the qualifiers for now. On the other hand, for the third year motley crew, it spelt out the official finale of their competitive high school volleyball career instead.

Their back postures reflected shadows of champions, and that was who they were now. 

And yet, there was one especially stubborn senior of his, that refused to back down from a challenge no matter what. He didn’t weep nor curse, and arms that were trained to win were used for comfort and were wrapped around Tsutomu’s shoulders. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t frustrated though; he had his eyes bunched together with lost pride threatening to let the waterworks free. He had irritation boiling in his veins and if he was glaring with more force than usual, there were no comments on it. 

If he had let his tears fall freely, he would just blend in with the rest of them, but he regarded his job as a senpai very highly. 

However, in Hayato’s case, responsibilities were a two-edged sword. Most of the time, it bound him in shackles. 

Before they lost the match, Taichi could almost see the burden of self-induced duties wrapping around Hayato’s neck and in the process, slowly choking the life out of him. Thank goodness he seemed to be resting for now, as the creases of worry in between his eyebrows give way to a more peaceful state. Without the stress-induced frowning, he looked all the more alluring. In a twisted, ironic sort of way, it was through losing the match that he was finally able to have a breather, free from the added stress of everyone’s expectations of him to dig up their balls whenever they were in a pinch. 

With the help of Reon, they had carried him down the stairs to an awaiting and scattered Shiratorizawa, who were alerted to wait around the roof area. Subsequently, they had crowded round the trio hurriedly, and Taichi instantly felt suffocated by all the attention. A cacophony of responses sounded out, including combinations of ‘What happened?!’, ‘Where have you two been?’ and even ‘Is Yamagata-san alright?’, but the two’s grim faces told them everything they needed to hear. The third-year had gone ahead by himself to look for Taichi and he had succumbed to overexertion. There was unsaid tension in the air regarding how exactly he had done that, but Taichi had wordlessly walked out of their circle. The team had instinctively trailed behind him like baby chicks following a mother hen, but it was the first time that the second year had wanted them to leave him alone. To accompany Hayato to the infirmary was his sole task for the day, which was rapidly turning to evening. It was  _ his  _ fault that the other had gone ahead and injured himself in the first place. 

He eased Hayato into a piggyback position on his back and the team opened their mouths as if they wanted to speak, but their words fell short and they could do nothing but stare at his receding back as he trudged wearily on. 

Now, he’s sitting beside Hayato dozing away carefreely and he tucks a loose strand of matted hair behind the other’s ear, rinsing the now slightly dry washcloth on his forehead.

Taichi remembers how Hayato had carefully picked up his hand and caressed it in his own, holding it up to his head as if engraving it. At the very pouring out of his feelings, the other had visibly reddened as much as a ripened peach and without thinking, he found it adorable. It dawned on him that the both of them felt the same way, the same kind of dizzying, butterflies-in-the-their-stomach kind of feeling. But that wasn’t what truly stood out; the libero’s eyes had turned vulnerable, as if he was drawing back his blinds to a morning after a rainstorm. 

Exposing his windows, his voice was reduced to a whisper, but the middle blocker could hear it loud and clear. He was making a plea, one which entrusted his troubles and revealed what exactly Hayato wanted to let him hear. 

_ Even with all of my flaws and brokenness, will you share the burden of my demons and walk this path with me?  _

It hit him right then and there, and Taichi had wanted to cry. This boy had hidden gardens and gardens of thorns that engulfed his soul and they pricked him from head to toe, yet he smiled as if the sky were as blue as the colour of his heart. He had never told anyone and let himself bleed, but he had finally stepped out of his bubble and stripped himself of his nightmares. 

He accounts it to his quick-thinking, and he remembers holding Hayato as he presented himself to him, a broken being who was scared to be alone. Yet, if it was any consolation, tears were allowed to spring forth and wrack through every fibre of the shorter boy. They served as a means of release, one which he had kept sealed off for too long and came rushing out like an opened dam. 

He sobbed with him and had never eased his hold on him, offering support when the boy needed it most. 

Who knew what kind of oozing, dripping monster darted in and out of Hayato’s mind space? How many nights had he lain awake, delusions toying with him and stealing his good night’s rest?

God, he was too tired to think. Operating all of the cognitions in his mind and jumping for decoy attacks, it all accumulated into him wanting to forget about everything and avoid the team for a few blissful minutes. Running away never worked in his favour however; it only led to pushing the issue under the carpet and being out of breath. 

What was he supposed to do in this situation?

All he could do was wait for Hayato to wake up, and despite the desperation that was coursing through his veins, he wanted to make good on that promise. A promise that he had conjured in his head before, while he held Hayato in his emotional state a few months before. 

_ I will. I will be with you no matter what happens or what we go through. Your demons do not define you, and neither do mine.  _

_ I love you.  _

Taichi rubs a thumb over Hayato’s eyebrows as if cementing a painting’s final strokes. In his slumber, his face seemed all the more beautiful in its peaceful, slightly rising form. It felt coarse to the touch and yet, he imagined what it would feel like if they had come into contact with his own. 

In the middle of his admiration, the sliding door behind him nearly slams open, and he jolts up, shoulders primed and tense and ready to activate a fight-or-flight response. When he makes out the familiar presence of his middle blocker senior barging in though, he heaves a sigh of relief and drops back down into his seat with a quiet vengeance. Despite his heart being in his mouth, he leans against the back of his plastic chair defeatedly. 

The ceiling has never looked duller in its chipped, white colour. 

“Tendou-san.” He drawls out a greeting, and Satori surveys this scenario as if grading a scene. On a scale of 1 to 10, how much was this scene in terms of the melancholic theme? (9 going to 10 perhaps, with the way things were advancing.) 

“We’ve had many firsts today, don’t you think? First qualifiers that Tsutomu’s been in, first loss, and first occurrence of you running off like a knight in shining armour whenever Hayato so much as finds himself in distress.” The redhead’s eyes twinkle, as if just discovering a scientific marvel that would be published in research articles days later. Taichi’s eyes glare at the fan that spins above his head, its oscillations blurring and hypnotic to him. 

“You’re right. What good is it, though? I feel as if I’m the ceiling fan and I’m spinning at several dozen cycles a minute.” His voice cracks, his arms hanging over the sides of the chair defeatedly and which seemed to be melting into the floor by the minute. His words clog his airways and his lower lip trembles as he gazes upon Hayato lying on the bed, a damp washcloth on his head. 

“It wouldn’t benefit this situation whatsoever. We’ve lost, and it’s a fact that we have to accept. I’m frustrated as hell too, and I want to pull my hair out until I’m bald. But hey, that’s not what’s important right now. What’s important is that we make sure Hayato's alright, and that we go back to our ol' swan school and have a good meal. All of my precious kouhais and senpais are starving, aren't you?" Satori mutters matter-of-factly in his laidback tone as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. 

Now that it was mentioned, Taichi's stomach  _ was  _ running on low fuel. His fingertips were shuddering like dry leaves on winter trees. Anything edible could suffice, and as he looked around the room which tried to fit as many Shiratorizawa members as possible, there was a myriad of nodding and affirmation. 

His eccentric senior’s moments of wisdom certainly made their arrival when the team least expected them, but despite the weight of his heart that was boring him down, he appreciates the sentiment regardless. 

"...I knew there was a reason the school kept you, Tendou-san.”

“Hey! It’s my stellar volleyball skills, of course!” Satori retorts unwittingly, arms high in the air for a one-man protest. However, he does swing his arms back around and jab his fingers towards Taichi, self-satisfaction radiating off of him in waves. At this, Taichi sighs committedly. 

Well, there was no business being down in the dumps for such a long time. Hayato would wake up soon, and as the team withdrew from the infirmary, Taichi takes one last yearning look towards him. 

Then, without unnecessary thought, he plants a relieved kiss on the curve of Hayato’s nose. 

He watches guard as Wakatoshi thanks him for taking care of Hayato like a diligent mother and lifts him into his arms to go back to the bus. Taichi sticks close by, eager to not let Hayato go and suffer for his sake again. While he wasn’t blaming himself for the situation that had transpired, there were still things to be done despite the defeat they had suffered. 

Things like holding heads up high and nursing wounded emotions, as well as letting Hayato know how much he meant to Taichi.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
